Inspiration
by EmeraldMalfoy916
Summary: In a time of war, everyone needs a little inspiration for what they are fighting for. The two most unlikely people find it in each other. Set During Seventh Year, Draco and Hermione begin a secret relationship.NOT DH comp.


**NONE of this belongs to me...only the plot...oOh and it will thicken...he he...**

**This is my first fanfiction posted on the net...please be kind and review...and welcome to Inspiration**

**Prologue**

"Mudblood," he sneers in her face, waiting for her reaction, but to no avail as it never comes. Just a numbness that encases her like a shell makes her seem inhumane to him but completely normal to her misfit duo.

_There is nothing, just the dark emptiness of her eyes._ No tilt of her head in acknowledgement—acknowledgement would mean she still felt it; his hands on her, all over her... But it never comes; her doe-like orbs stare at him, empty of their former fire. A fire so bright he wishes she'd burn herself up from the inside, out. But not a flicker of flame can be seen; no comeback or fury, no anger or resentment, no whispers, no promises. Just empty brown, muddied eyes. Not even a twitch of her wand hand, not a furrow in her brow, no soft caresses or quiet moans, no echo of what was and what could have been,just emptiness. _That_ he can't stand to look at.

_He knows he had caused it—just like his heart knows to beat again._ It's his fault. The great Draco Malfoy had brought the Gryffindor Princess to her knees at last, and he should be proud.

Her eyes pass over him as though he is a speck of dust floating in the air. He doesn't exist in her world and he wishes he could yell at her—make her see him. Dead like a rotting corpse—that's how she looks. _She gives more response to Blaise, his fellow housemate, who just stands silently beside him, the trademark Slytherin smirk pasted on his face._ and to Pansy the pug faced bitch that hangs on his arm. Pansy, stuck in her illusion of prettiness, and the reason for this current madness. Even _they_ get a response from her, but nothing is said or directed towards him." I'll always love you..." He hears the words whispered in his head—Granger's voice casting her spell on him in the dead of night, where no one could see them—no Potter to save the day, no Weasel with his ears turning red—no one to tell them that it's wrong for them to cling to each other's bodies like soul snatchers. He wants to scream to make them see that she is no longer Granger the insufferable, Granger the know-it-all, Granger the unreachable. She's a broken porcelain doll, _that had been shattered into pieces._shattered into pieces because of him, his words and his actions. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue, Granger?" He tries to force her into an argument—this used to be fun for him; the highlight of his day—_how pathetic is that?_

Again she looks through him with no evidence of recognition and he can't believe it, but she sighs. Just a small exhale of breath that tells him so much. Her friends are oblivious to it, of course. They assume she's just taking the mature road. Potter with his famous scar, just glares at Draco from her left. And —good old predictable Weasley, stands on her right looking like he's constipated. "I think you should move, Malfoy." And there is Potter to save the day.

Draco almost laughs in his face. Where was Potter when he had her lips pressed against his and her legs parted, wrapped around his waist, back against the wall, eyes closed? And the moans...

He gives his head a little shake to try and stop the memories from taking over him. Potter almost shits himself when Draco smirks and gives a fake bow. "As you wish." He moves past Wonder Boy and his sidekicks. His shoulder brushes against Granger's as he passes and he isn't sure if he hears correctly—maybe he really has gone mad, _He can almost swear he hears her suck in a breath, as if she's trying to savor the smell of him…_as if she's trying to savor the smell of him...

Draco doesn't look back at her, but he stores that thread of progress away to analyze later—when he's alone in his bed, pathetic. He and the Slytherins begin to descend down the stairs to the dungeons. There is a giggle from his right and he glances over at the source of his current dilemma. He doesn't like that this poor excuse for a woman is on his arm. She could never be Granger... But his mistakes and actions caused this; like a simple equation. For every action, there is a reaction. And he knows it now-lesson learnt little too late.

If only he hadn't of let his anger make him act so rashly; maybe now she wouldn't be with the Boy-who-lived. Maybe he wouldn't want to cut off his arm right now,or 'avada' the witch on it. Maybe he wouldn't be so full of anger that _again_ Potter had taken something right out of his grasp. He wondered if she made all those deliriously sweet noises for Potter, wondered if she cries out Potter's name for him and begs for more.

Jealousy isn't something he's used to feeling. And he's so sick and damn tired of Potter and his gang of merry fools being the cause of it. Rage, building in the pit of his stomach, has him wishing he'd screamed the truth while he had the chance. But because of her and her wishes, he has remained quiet. "You must forget this ever happened!" Her voice replays again in his head and now he is certain. He really is going mad...

**Hope you enjoyed it...first chapter will be up soon...again read and review**

**Emerald Malfoy**


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